Why can't a woman 'man' the grill?
Usually, men are the outdoor barbecue cooks, but sometimes a woman would like the opportunity.
By Bina Venkataramanfrom the June 25, 2007 edition
Page 1 of 2
Each summer they crop up predictably: roses, azaleas, and affronts to my ability to work the grill. Backyard or front, Northeast or Midwest, since I've been able to wield a pair of tongs I've been ridiculed, deflected, and wrestled out of my preferred post overseeing the barbecue at seasonal parties and picnics.
Excuses? I've heard them all, from "I want to give you a break," to "This thing is tricky to operate." More often, a guy who sees me approaching the grill with a pile of hamburger meat or a marinated mahi-mahi will intercept me to ask, "What are you doing?" – as if brandishing a spatula and grill basket isn't indication enough.
It's true that women have penetrated boardrooms, fought wars, and climbed Mount Everest. Yet what Australians call the "barbie" still seems to be distinctly reserved for Ken.
Although I've been in the workforce for only a few years, gone seem the salad days of egalitarian college cookouts. And far behind me are the desperate fire-escape attempts at outdoor cooking during the years I lived in New York City – which, needless to say, were outside the realm of social norm.
To explain the no-woman zone surrounding the grill, men I know say that grilling is "not cerebral; you just throw it on and poke and prod it." My friend Lee says he likes the fact that grilling is "relatively difficult to screw up." Does this mean men think their gender isn't too bright or that grilling is so easy a woman would overthink it?
Not all men have a problem with women who want to work the grill. If you believe a recent survey by the National Pork Board, six out of 10 women are grilling at least once per month in the privacy of their yards. One-on-one, my male friends tell me they have no qualms about letting a lady char the chicken. But such chivalry belies my experience time and again at social gatherings, where the collective force of maleness at the grill makes me feel like a hen trying to roast a rooster.
Why would a woman want to "man the grill" (as the verbiage so clearly indicates is paradoxical)? It's hot, smelly, and – depending on the grill construction and amount of lighter fluid required – potentially dangerous.
I admit that there's nothing quite feminine about what inspires me to fire up the coals. In fact, it's the very "toughness" of the task that makes grilling a unique culinary challenge – it's more physical, gritty, and grandiose than baking a casserole. It's about the force of your burger flip as opposed to the fine fringes of your pie crust. It's the flambé instead of the baklava, the kebab rather than the kale. At the same time, it's an exercise in patience and observation – and what writer doesn't need extra help with that?
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